Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance
With this gun in my hand I will end it all. I press the cool barrel against my forehead and take in a deep breathe. The alcohol has already numbed my senses, granted I drank an entire bottle myself. Maybe I won’t feel it. Maybe I’ll just slip off into nonexistence with no pain. In a sick sort of way, I want to feel it. I want to feel the bullet plunge through my skull. Feel it or not, I made sure I was drunk so I wouldn’t be able to come to my senses. No one will miss me. I set the gun down to clean my glasses and can’t help but allow a dark chuckle escape my lips. What’s the point of carrying out this OCD habit of mine? I won’t need to see in a matter of minutes. I slip the glasses back onto the bridge of my nose and look around the room. I look at the old worn pictures of my brother and I. Back when he still cared about me. Back when I mattered. Back before he met his fiancee, Frank. Frank. The short arrogant lying shit. Hatred spreads throughout my entire body as I smash the empty bottle against the wall. That fucking prick stole my brother and broke my heart. I grab the gun angrily, then set it back down. I have to wait until midnight. Just Three More Minutes. I stand up and go to the kitchen, for one last pot of coffee. I pour it into the mug and go back into the bedroom of the small pathetic apartment. I down the coffee with a minute to spare. I stand up and look out the window at the moon. It’s full and beautiful. pick up the gun as I’ve got seconds left. I say my goodbyes in silence. The alarm set on my phone goes off and I bite my lip before whispering “Happy Birthday, Mikey.” before pulling the trigger. I hear the shot and feel the blow and wait for it to happen. Wait for my body to fall limply on the cold floor.
Instead, I wake up. I jerk awake and look around my small apartment bedroom. I shove on my glasses and try to calm my heavy, frantic breathing. I stand up and walk to the couch with wobbling legs. It’s been almost a year since my failed suicide attempt, but the dreams won’t leave. I turn on the TV and watch SpongeBob to calm myself down. When it fails, I dial Ray’s number.
“Mmorning Mikess..” he slurs sleepily.
“H-Hey R-Ray.”
I hear him sit up “On my way.” he hangs up.
I sniffle and hug my knees.
The day after I tried to commit, I met Ray. He was in the hospital too, but unlike me, it wasn’t self inflicted. He had a broken leg and since we were released on the same day, despite my brother’s efforts to have me institutionalized, I offered to help him get home. Our friendship was instant and easy. Well, not easy. I helped him around his house and he helped me during my episodes. But, a few months ago his leg healed up and I came back home. He told me I might as well move in, but I felt so guilty since I had no way to help him now. I rock back and forth, trying to push away the thoughts involving the kitchen knives, and wait for him. Ray’s coming. When he gets here I’ll be safe. When he gets here the want, no the need, to plunge a knife into my heart will leave. I hear him unlock the door as I rock faster, on the couch. For what feels like hours, he turns the doorknob. For what feels like years, it finally opens and he rushes to me, pulling me into a warm embrace. I hug back and bury my face into his chest, listening to his heart beating.
“You’re moving in with me.” he kisses the top of my head “I can’t worry like this about you anymore. I need to have you close and safe. Later today we’re going to pack your things.”
“B-But Ra-Ray-”
“But what?”
“I-I’d be in the wa-”
“Michael James Way you look up at me now.” I look up at him and he continues, “You could never me ‘in the way’. You’re my best friend and I’m going to keep you safe. I loved having you at my house and I was pretty sad when you left.”
I nod and move to let him sit down. I curl into his chest and fall into a dreamless sleep.
Instead, I wake up. I jerk awake and look around my small apartment bedroom. I shove on my glasses and try to calm my heavy, frantic breathing. I stand up and walk to the couch with wobbling legs. It’s been almost a year since my failed suicide attempt, but the dreams won’t leave. I turn on the TV and watch SpongeBob to calm myself down. When it fails, I dial Ray’s number.
“Mmorning Mikess..” he slurs sleepily.
“H-Hey R-Ray.”
I hear him sit up “On my way.” he hangs up.
I sniffle and hug my knees.
The day after I tried to commit, I met Ray. He was in the hospital too, but unlike me, it wasn’t self inflicted. He had a broken leg and since we were released on the same day, despite my brother’s efforts to have me institutionalized, I offered to help him get home. Our friendship was instant and easy. Well, not easy. I helped him around his house and he helped me during my episodes. But, a few months ago his leg healed up and I came back home. He told me I might as well move in, but I felt so guilty since I had no way to help him now. I rock back and forth, trying to push away the thoughts involving the kitchen knives, and wait for him. Ray’s coming. When he gets here I’ll be safe. When he gets here the want, no the need, to plunge a knife into my heart will leave. I hear him unlock the door as I rock faster, on the couch. For what feels like hours, he turns the doorknob. For what feels like years, it finally opens and he rushes to me, pulling me into a warm embrace. I hug back and bury my face into his chest, listening to his heart beating.
“You’re moving in with me.” he kisses the top of my head “I can’t worry like this about you anymore. I need to have you close and safe. Later today we’re going to pack your things.”
“B-But Ra-Ray-”
“But what?”
“I-I’d be in the wa-”
“Michael James Way you look up at me now.” I look up at him and he continues, “You could never me ‘in the way’. You’re my best friend and I’m going to keep you safe. I loved having you at my house and I was pretty sad when you left.”
I nod and move to let him sit down. I curl into his chest and fall into a dreamless sleep.
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